


the lying sense

by dualce



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Female Bilbo, Female Thorin, Rule 63, Smut, a little bit of angst, a little bit of schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 02:54:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dualce/pseuds/dualce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“After all, an illusion wouldn’t eat all your food and steal your mattress for sleeping,” Bilbo said wryly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the lying sense

**Author's Note:**

> Embarrassingly late fill for fembagginshield week on [tumblr](http://fembagginshield.tumblr.com/). The [prompt](http://fembagginshield.tumblr.com/post/50616618121/some-invisible-bilboxthorin-smut-would-be-pretty-darn) called for invisible!Bilbo/Thorin smut. I hope you like it, OP, if you’re still around!
> 
> I should note that A. I’ve never written Rule 63 before and B. I’ve never written femslash smut either, so C. basically there’s a good chance this is not very quality. D. Sorry?

The corner of her cell held a mattress, lumpy with hay that was starting to go to rot, and Thorin slumped down on it. She had just finished pacing the length of her small cell, hoping it would energize her, but she felt listless still. The fury she felt at her imprisonment at the hands of the Elvenking had long since drained away, leaving only a vague sense of unease and the occasional wave of guilt for failing her company.

She curled her hands into fists and leant her forehead against her knuckles. The unease had started setting into a stone of dread in her gut, thick as the walls that surrounded her, and she knew not how to banish it. She took several deep breaths, ribs expanding against her short tunic easily, her armor long since stripped from her, and told herself this was the touchstone of Durin’s heir, and she could not, _would_ not bring her father and grandfather shame.

She must think of something other than Erebor, then, for it pulsed hot behind her eyes, a tantalizing, unattainable dream. Something more attainable; something she could grasp. Unbidden, her mind conjured up an image of Bilbo. She traced the curve of the hobbit's soft smile in her mind, the constant line of bewilderment between her brows, and the shape of her waistcoat, fit snug around her plump curves. Perhaps not so plump now, after their long and arduous journey, Thorin thought regretfully. When they took back Erebor, she would feed her hobbit well, as the splendors of the Lonely Mountain were always better seen on a full --

 _Her_ hobbit?

Thorin shook her head in self-disgust and for good measure, slammed a fist against the thin mattress, the stuffing crackling under the force. Bilbo was hardly _her_ hobbit. Yet she could not help but want otherwise, just as she could not help but wonder if the hobbit returned even the slightest of her feelings. Bilbo’s flustered gaze was certainly no help. She looked in askance towards the dwarves’ manners, their habits, their speeches and their dress -- or lack of, perhaps. Most likely, she had not an inkling that the King-Under-the-Mountain had such besotted -- and occasionally unseemly -- thoughts about her.

Thorin hardly dared to trust her feelings herself. She spent half her time wondering at the sheer scale of the thunderous sensations the hobbit provoked in her, and the other half hoping no one else had the sense to see it either. If Balin’s wiggling caterpillar brows were anything to go by, then she was probably out of luck.

Still, Thorin was nearly convinced they’d had something of a moment on the ledge where the eagles had deposited them. Bilbo had looked up at her with such sincere relief, Thorin’s already aching chest had seized at the tenderness of it. She could not think of why else the hobbit would look at her so, not after all the scorn Thorin had heaped on her.

With a sigh, Thorin sat back on her mattress until her back hit the wall, and folded her hands across her lap. And that was why Bilbo had no notion of Thorin’s true feelings, for Thorin had made well and sure she did not. _Yet_ \-- yet Thorin clung to the scene on the rock ledge, and often returned to it, as she did now, sometimes letting herself imagine a different kind of ending, one more pleasurable under different circumstances.

There’d be no chance of peril, or an audience, the next time they met, Thorin mused, only all the time in the world. Bilbo would be smiling agreeably, for once, chestnut curls fluttering in the wind and cheeks flushed apple-red. “Thorin,” she’d murmur in her soft voice, soothing lightness to Thorin’s low gravel, and Thorin would cross the short distance between them to wrap a hand around her waist and lean down, capturing her lips.

Or better yet: “Thorin!” Bilbo would gasp, hands curling on her shoulders, tangling into Thorin’s long hair as Thorin memorized the lines of her pale throat, her loosened bodice and full skirt lifting easily to --

"Thorin, Thorin!"

Yes, Bilbo would whisper her name like that as she shook apart under Thorin’s lips and teeth and hands, Thorin savoring every bit of skin until she had consumed her whole.

“Thorin!”

And she would be frantic as Thorin neared the crease of her thighs, so close to where she wanted her the most, yet Thorin would draw out the teasing touch, until Bilbo’s hands were pulling at Thorin’s hair, desperation in her cries for breath. _Then_ Thorin would dig her thumbs into the curly folds that covered her swelling sex (hair like the curls on Bilbo’s head but darker and wiry, she imagined), and part the long lips so she could slide her tongue into Bilbo’s slickness.

Thorin shifted and pushed the heel of her hand across the swell of her sex, trying to settle herself. This was a much better use of her time than drowning in her misery, nevermind if the Elvenking had eyes on her at all times, spying away. She could --

“Thor _in_!”

Thorin reflexively whipped her head to the door, hand flying to her belt where Orcrist should have rested. In the silence that followed the strange cry, she searched the room, but even though her eyes had long since grown accustomed to the darkness, she could see nothing out of the ordinary. Clammy stone walls kept the cell cool and dark, and besides the mattress she rested on there was only a chamber pot in the other corner. The only possibility was --

She squeezed her eyes shut, and opened them to darkness. She must be imagining things.

“Thorin.” A particularly exasperated intonation of her name gave her doubt. Frowning, Thorin got up on one knee, ignoring the way her sex thrummed briefly as her trousers pulled tight.

She scanned the cell again. Perhaps this was a new trick of Thranduil's, to break her reticence through magic. Although how the Elvenking knew to conjure up a hobbit, Thorin could not fathom.

"Thorin, it's _me_ , Bilbo!"

There as no way he could have known that name. Could he? Had she spit it out mistakenly during an interrogation, or whispered it into the darkness of her cell?

“Confusti _cate_ it all!”

That mutter really was exactly like -- "Bilbo?" The name stole past her lips against her will.

“Thorin! Oh, thank heavens. I was beginning to doubt you’d ever hear me!”

"Where are you?" Thorin had investigated every nook of the cell. There was no way she’d missed a way out -- or in.

"Here! Outside the door."

Thorin was up and striding to the door in an instant, bending slightly to peer through the keyhole. She saw the faint light cast by the torches further down the hallway, but nothing to indicate someone’s presence. "Where are you?"

"Right here," Bilbo says, and appeared as an indistinct shape in Thorin's view, half-hidden in the darkness and too close for Thorin to focus on.

For all her doubts, the sight of her burglar brought immediate relief; Thorin found herself sucking in a great breath and crushing her fingers to the door as if she could reach through the heavy wood and wrap a hand around the hobbit’s body. It was hard to believe the halfing was actually there, a door’s width away, and not some desperate invention of Thorin’s imagination, but solid and substantial and real. If Thorin was slow in responding, she could hardly be faulted for it.

Bilbo’s voice filtered through the door, so quiet Thorin could barely hear her. "Are you well?"

Words came slowly to her, tongue two sizes too large in her mouth. “Is it really my dear burglar?” She said half to herself, scarcely daring to trust her ears.

“What?” Bilbo said in a shocked exclamation. “Thorin -- yes, of course, it’s me! I --”

“How did you get here?” Thorin said, heart gripped in a vise in her chest.

“They’ve captured the company,” Bilbo said, and the pressure in Thorin’s chest dropped, her heart sinking like a stone.

“But not you.”

“No,” Bilbo said wearily. “Not I.”

For a moment Thorin suspended her disbelief. Perhaps Bilbo really _was_ here. This would not be the first time she had turned up unexpectedly to rescue Thorin.

“Are you well?” Bilbo asked, interrupting her muddled thoughts.

"As well as can be expected in the care of elves," Thorin said grimly. "And you? Have you seen the others?"

"I’m fine. Actually, we are all better off, now," Bilbo admitted.

Thorin narrowed her eyes. “Now?”

“It was quite the mess. After you’d been captured, it went dark, and it was impossible to see where everyone else was! I ran around calling everyone’s name, and finally fell over, asleep on my feet. Turned out that these great, nasty spiders -- as big as Bombur! -- caught the dwarves and wrapped them up, neat as could be, in sticky threads and poisoned them to sleep. They nearly caught me! Fortunately I awoke in time, and beat them off with Sting, and songs and stones -- no spider likes being called Attercop, as you may know -- and drew them away from the rest of the dwarves --”

“How did you manage all that?” Thorin said, breaking through Bilbo’s rambling account. She did not doubt the hobbit’s fierceness, or her swiftness but her lack of skill with the sword made the story surprising.

“Well -- that is --” Here Bilbo drew a deep breath. “The ring.”

“Ring?”

Bilbo’s voice dropped into a faint whisper, so Thorin had to lean her ear against the keyhole.

“It, er, makes me invisible.”

“So that is how -- right now --” Thorin didn’t finish.

“Yes.”

Thorin couldn’t speak for a moment, too astonished to say anything. It was a tidy explanation for how the rest of the company was captive like herself, while the hobbit remained free. “And the goblin cave?” Thorin realized.

“Yes, that was my means of escape. Quite useful, really.”

“Indeed,” Thorin said, surprising herself with an even tone. Having such a secret hid from her for so long would normally infuriate her, but now, it hardly bothered her. The news that her companions were alive, although exhausted and hungry, had lifted Thorin's spirits greatly, and she only felt relief at the news. “Remarkable.”

“Well, I would hardly call it that,” Bilbo replied, self-effacing, and Thorin could almost imagine her ducking her head. “A lot of credit goes to Sting, too. My blade,” Bilbo explained in afterthought.

“A well-earned name,” Thorin agreed. “All in all, well done,” she added quietly.

“Thank you,” Bilbo said primly.

A slight silence followed. Bilbo’s miraculous arrival and her extraordinary magic ring meant that an opportunity for escape was now theirs to take, as soon as they could figure one out.

"You must find a means of escape,” Thorin said, thinking of Bilbo’s nearly unlimited ability to discover secrets and find out information.

On the other side of the door, Bilbo sighed in response.

“Miss Baggins?” Thorin prompted.

“Yes, of course I will _try_ ,” Bilbo replied, although she did not seem so confident as Thorin.

Thorin could hear little whispers of noise through the door, sounds of nervous shuffling and shifting. "I trust you will find one," Thorin said with surety.

Bilbo muttered something under her breath indignantly and Thorin wished more than anything to be on the other side of the door, if just to grasp the hobbit’s shoulder in solidarity. Just a touch would do, Thorin told herself sternly, although there was a significant part of her wanted to hold on and never let go.

“Oh, alright,” Bilbo huffed, and Thorin smiled.

“Good,” Thorin said. "Go to the others, and tell them not to reveal our errand, yet, not before I give word."

Bilbo was silent, and Thorin waited several moments for her response, then realized Bilbo might have left already.

“Bilbo?” Thorin said quickly, squinting through the keyhole.

“Yes?”

She meant to dismiss the hobbit, but when she opened her mouth Thorin said instead, “Come back after you’ve delivered the message?” She hadn’t meant it to sound like a plea, but fortunately Bilbo did not seem to notice.

“Yes, certainly. I’ll be back.”

Then she was gone. Thorin listened carefully, but did not hear her footsteps or the rustle of her dress, and when she stooped to stare out the keyhole, saw nothing out of the ordinary. The king watched the corridor until her back stiffened. Whether a trick of the Elvenking’s or of her mind, it was still hard to let her hobbit go.

Bilbo returned the next day, and the nearly every day after that, until their whispered conversations grew sharper and more impatient. Thorin was anxious to escape, and not doing a very good job of hiding it, and Bilbo complained of hunger and sleeplessness in every other breath, even though she was quite capable of stealing what she needed with her ring.

It made Thorin feel guilty, for she drew great comfort in hearing her burglar's voice, and Bilbo's reports on the palace gave her something to occupy her time with when she was alone, strategizing on possible means of escape. A determined resolve has been restored to Thorin, even as Bilbo’s spirit slowly sank.

"There must be a head guard,” Thorin said impatiently during one of their conversations about how to get the keys for the cells. “Find him and steal his key ring while he’s asleep.”

"Easy for you to say," Bilbo said sourly, and then fumbled quickly to correct her words. "Oh -- sorry! I know that you're -- neither of us are hardly where we want to be. I'm just tired. I followed the hunters out yesterday, and didn't make it through the gate in time so I was stuck outside last night." The hobbit’s voice seemed to droop with weariness.

Thorin tightened her mouth at the jab but was soothed somewhat by Bilbo’s explanation. She contemplated the problem, taking a step back from the door and linking her arms behind her back. "Why don’t you stay in here?"

"In there?" Bilbo said doubtfully.

"They deliver food three times a day. I have more than enough to share," Thorin said. "Follow me in after the Elvenking’s interrogation --” he took her out once a day to question her “-- and leave when they come back for me the next. You can sleep without fear of being caught."

Bilbo was silent for a long time, until she agree, although she still sounded slightly skeptical to Thorin’s ears. "If you think that’ll work…"

“It will.”

It did. The guards came for Thorin, and she bore the bonds around her wrists and ankles with rigid dignity. She did not so easily tolerate the spell they placed on her, to keep her senseless until she arrived at the king’s court, but she managed to keep her mouth mostly shut while he tried to rile her with insults toward her grandfather. He did not mention Bilbo or the other members of the company.

Eventually Thranduil ordered her back to her cell. She went slowly, too slowly for the guards, and one shoved her towards the doorway of her cell when they arrived.

She tripped, sprawling inelegantly on the floor. While she tried to regain her bearings, tangled in the chain that held her feet together and the tie that kept her wrists clasped together, the door boomed shut behind her.

She snarled at the guards as they slide a tray of food into the cell, hitting the back of her feet. They didn’t move to strip her of her bonds, which meant that Thranduil was dissatisfied at her performance. She was meant to spend the night fettered like a dog.

She ground her teeth and waited until their footsteps receded and then for several measured breaths after that before risking a whisper. "Halfling?"

"Here," came the soft reply, accompanied by a touch to her arm that startled Thorin.

"Sorry!" Bilbo said, and the touch retreated.

Thorin, even knowing Bilbo could not be seen, could not help herself and searched the cell for her. She could hear the quick beat of Bilbo’s breath, and the wet snap of her swallowing throat.

"Bilbo?" Thorin said.

“Yes?” Bilbo said, voice soft, right beside her.

Thorin turned her head and frowned at the empty space. She nearly voiced her desire to see the hobbit, to give shape to the sound that echoed at her, but said instead, “You may take the ring off.”

"I think it's better that I keep it on," Bilbo said nervously. "What if they come back?"

"They won't," Thorin said, although she could not be sure. She fanned her fingers out briefly, as if she could summon the hobbit to her touch, but clenched them into a fist. All it did was remind her of the bonds on her.

“You should eat,” Thorin said after a moment.

“Oh, yes!” Bilbo said fervently, and Thorin turned her head away from the sound of Bilbo’s voice, a slight smile on her lips. She pulled herself to her feet and turned to see the tray disappear, freezing in place. She hadn’t heard any sound of Bilbo moving.

Thorin stood staring until Bilbo's flustered voice sounded right next to her.

"Oh, sorry! I wasn’t thinking -- of course you can’t see what I’m doing. I’ll just put it here, shall I?” The tray reappeared next to the mattress.

"Strange," Thorin muttered, and shook her head. She did not like magic things much, but did not find it intolerable, only inconvenient. She shuffled closer, the chain between her ankles keeping her gait shortened. Bilbo didn’t answer, and Thorin saw bits of the food on the tray disappearing as presumably Bilbo picked them up.

Thorin wondered where to sit. There were several indentations on the mattress, but they could be from her previous use of the bedding. Thorin chose the safest route and sat back on her heels on the floor.

“Aren’t you going to have a bite?” Bilbo said after while, a trace of politeness in her manner, although it was clear she was quite hungry.

Thorin shook her head. Watching the food quite literally disappear was enough to keep her distracted. When the food was gone Thorin pushed the tray out of the way and turned her attention back to the mattress.

“Sleep.” Thorin motioned.

Bilbo sighed gratefully and moved back, the mattress rustling underneath her. “Aren’t you…?” She said, when Thorin got up to rest against the wall. “I really don’t mind sharing,” she said hesitantly, and then more firmly, “You need to sleep, too.”

Thorin looked down at the mattress, although of course she couldn’t see anything. She hadn’t expected Bilbo to insist. The hobbit was always so adamant on following decorum. Still, she could not turn down the chance to be close to the hobbit, and with her bonds, she could not do much anyways, or even hope for a decent night of sleep.

Thorin hobbled back to the mattress and frowned. She couldn’t see any sign of where Bilbo might be, beyond a couple of suspicious shadows. She carefully reached past where she thought the hobbit’s body might be, and stopped when her palm settled on something. From the weave of the fabric, she though it might be Bilbo’s skirt. It looked like her hand was hovering over the surface of the mattress, and she watched in fascination as she curled her fingers into the air, until Bilbo made a surprised sound.

Thorin quickly pulled away, but something warm -- Bilbo’s fingers -- caught the tips of her fingers.

“Hold on,” Bilbo said breathlessly, and Thorin frowned when it wasn’t clear what she intended for her to do. There was another rustling sound, and Bilbo spoke into her ear.

“Lie down and I -- I’ll follow.”

Thorin obliged and crawled onto the mattress on her knees, finding it empty. She laid down, hands tied in front of her. It was going to be a long and painful night, just as the Elvenking had intended.

Judging by the jostles and knocks against her body, Bilbo was presumably lying down next to her. Thorin grunted as something hit the side of her leg.

“Sorry, sorry.”

Thorin twitched and tried out of the way, twisting to get a shoulder under her. “Let me --” she said, just as Bilbo squeaked.

“That’s my --” The hobbit gasped.

Thorin realized she had laid her hands on warm, soft flesh. She jerked back and rolled away, holding her hands to the side of her hip.

“I don’t like this,” she muttered to cover her awkwardness as Bilbo squirmed around next to her.

“I’m not particularly enjoying this part of our adventure, either.”

“So remove it,” Thorin said impatiently, ignoring Bilbo’s complaints. She looked over, searching the space next to her as if she could somehow catch Bilbo’s eye.

“What if the guards return? You don’t know they won’t, not for certain,” Bilbo said, a thread of wariness in her voice.

Thorin grunted her displeasure before biting her lip, laying back down to stare up into the darkness. Bilbo did the same, and after awhile Thorin wondered if the hobbit had fallen asleep. If Thorin concentrated, she could just hear Bilbo’s soft, regular breathing beside her.

If only -- Thorin subtly twisted her hands, but the bonds on her wrists were tight. Even if she could have Bilbo cut them off, it would only lead to an unpleasant discovery tomorrow.

“I could remove them?” Bilbo’s hesitant voice echoed her own thoughts. “I have Sting with me, or I perhaps I could untie them.”

Thorin allowed a small smile at Bilbo’s optimism. “Who knows what magic the Elvenking has laid on them.”

“Oh. Yes,” agreed Bilbo, who had undoubtedly seen much magic in Thranduil's kingdom by now.

Silence followed, and Thorin allowed her eyes to fall shut. She wasn’t tired in the slightest, but thought she might let Bilbo sleep, and tried to keep her restlessness to a minimum. The tie around her wrist seemed to prevent that from happening. Slowly her hands went numb, until she was flexing her fingers every few minutes, hoping to relieve the pins and needles that tingled through them.

A soft touch on her arm stilled her movements, and Thorin caught her breath sharply, startled.

“Er, are you comfortable?” Bilbo whispered.

“No,” Thorin grunted, for there was no use pretending otherwise, and then blinked her eyes open in surprise when Bilbo grabbed her hands.

Her smaller fingers dug into the flesh between Thorin’s thumb and forefinger, and then pushed down along the backs of her hands and pulled on her fingers, straightening them. Her muscles prickled and stung, little currents of lightning coursing through them as they came back to life.

A rustle caught her ears, and Thorin’s attention was torn between the contact of their hands and the proximity of the hobbit, like the lightning had jumped the air between them.

“Is this helping?” Bilbo said after a moment, breath coming a little faster, although perhaps only because of the activity.

Thorin grunted, and made sure to keep her face composed even though her heartbeat had picked up, thudding uncomfortable in her chest.

“Are you certain you don’t want me to try to remove them?” Bilbo said, her hands moving up until they rested around Thorin’s wrists. Her leather wrist protectors kept Thorin from feeling the contact, but Thorin thought Bilbo might be tracing the patterns of the guards as if they were engraved onto Thorin’s skin.

“Only if you remove your ring,” Thorin said foolishly, thinking only of Bilbo’s fingernails drawing across her arms, and froze as her words made the room go completely silent around them.

“I can’t just risk -- if they catch me --” Bilbo said, shock making her voice stumble.

Thorin growled and sat up, ignoring Bilbo’s protest. She reached out, fumbling to find something to grasp onto -- a shoulder, waist, a knee, _anything_ \-- and Bilbo yelped as Thorin collided with some part of the hobbit’s body unkindly.

“What are you doing?” Bilbo asked in a high squeak.

Thorin opened her mouth. Bilbo’s invisibility meant Thorin could not read her reactions, and that meant she must explain herself. Speak her feelings or make some excuse for her actions. There was no sunset behind the Lonely Mountain to give them clarity, no light to see the worried alarm on Bilbo’s face or the shadow of her disgust.

“It’s safer this way,” Bilbo said, her pragmatism cool against the flame of Thorin’s frustration. “If the guards return and look through the cell, they will only see you.”

Thorin had never been one for honeyed words, and a confession seemed unbearable when she couldn’t gauge Bilbo’s reaction. She looked away from the dark space in front of her and acquiesced with a nod, lips tightening. There would be other times, she told herself, but it was a hollow sort of comfort.

She felt a hand settle companionably on her knee and let her eyes drift back to the area before her. The darkness was no more revealing than before.

Thorin frowned. She was about to speak and order Bilbo back to sleep when she felt a hesitant, daring hand pet through her unbound hair.

“And if they could see you _now_ …” Bilbo chuckled nervously.

Thorin sat still as Bilbo combed the lengths of her unkempt hair, unknotting the snarls or working around them if they were too hopeless. She told herself it was an unearned kindness from the hobbit, and nothing more.

No other motive lay behind it.

“What would they think?” Thorin asked, trying to force lightness, even if she would rather not speak again for the rest of the night.

“I -- I don’t know,” Bilbo said slowly. “I imagine it looks quite strange, you sitting and speaking to nothing.” She meant it in humor, but Thorin closed her eyes at the sting of memory it brought up.

 _Like madness_ , Thorin thought, jaw clenching tightly. She recalled her grandfather, of the heaps of gold so bright it hid his blindness, and the way he spun and spoke in exclamations, as if the gold was answering back. Perhaps it could. She’d never wondered before, but now she thought of it, eyes flicking through empty air as she conversed with the darkness.

The hand in her hair slowed. “But I _am_ here,” Bilbo said quietly, striking with unerring precision to the heart of things.

Thorin had no reply to that, and so she shut her eyes, and turned her face slightly, until Bilbo was cupping her cheek. She breathed in, and out, and Bilbo’s hand was steady. Then the touch moved down her jawline, scratching lightly through the short hairs her beard.

“After all, an illusion wouldn’t eat all your food and steal your mattress for sleeping,” Bilbo said wryly.

A smile pulled at Thorin’s lips, slowly fading as they sat there, neither advancing nor retreating. “So sleep,” she murmured thickly, eyes drifting open towards where she thought Bilbo might be sitting.

She felt the hobbit’s fingertips waver against her skin. The touch crawled slowly across down, to discover the point of her chin, edging closer to her lips. Thorin’s mouth fell open slightly, inviting.

“I’m not,” Bilbo said, clearing her throat in an awkward laugh. “I’m not tired,” she finished, voice huskier than before.

Thorin leaned forward, until the touch on her chin moved back to cup her jaw, and Bilbo’s breath washed warmly across Thorin’s lips. Thorin’s skin tingled with both the unexpected heat and a hyper awareness that Bilbo’s mouth was but a breath from her own.

Thorin paused one long moment, and lifted her head forward an increment until she knew the feel of Bilbo’s lips against her own.

They were dry and soft, and moved with the barest hint of gentle pressure against her own. Bilbo’s hand tightened on her jaw and the other caught her shoulder, spreading across Thorin’s well-used overcoat and crumpling the fabric as her fingers clenched.

Bilbo pulled away after a minute, huffing in laughter, and Thorin, wanting for more, chased after her, tracking the sound of her voice. She managed to knock her nose into the hobbit’s cheek and find her target, lips moving dryly across the hobbit’s own.

Bilbo yielded under her, lips opening so that Thorin’s tongue could sweep through the wet heat until the hobbit pulled away again. By then Thorin was overbalanced, and caught herself hard on her elbow, hands finding purchase in the hobbit’s lap.

“Wait,” Bilbo said, breath ragged, although they had hardly done anything. Thorin opened her fingers, gone clumsy in their bonds, to grasp a handful of the hobbit’s skirt.

“Thorin!”

“Yes?” Thorin pushed up the fabric until her thumb was resting against the bare skin of a thigh -- a knee, rather, as she discovered a bony kneecap.

Bilbo squeaked indignantly and stopped her with her hands, the muscles of her leg trembling under Thorin’s hand. “Why -- how can you -- that is hardly proper!”

The angle was awkward, all her weight on her slanted shoulder, but the press of her knuckles to skin as tantalizing, and she wanted more than anything to keep going. “You wish to stop?”

“This isn’t how we usually _do_ things,” Bilbo responded, flustered.

“I would hope none of this is _usual_ ,” Thorin muttered, fingers playing with the hem of the hobbit’s skirt, but she went no farther than that.

Bilbo swallowed thickly, loud enough for Thorin to hear.

Thorin pulled back her hands, getting her elbow further under her although it twisted her back painfully. The pain provided a good distraction, for oh, how she wanted to touch her hobbit, now that she was more certain of Bilbo’s feelings.

Yet she would wait for Bilbo to give her permission first, although really, she had been patient for so long. She _could_ speak now and voice how desperately she wished to bury herself in the hobbit, to map the valleys and peaks of her body, to kiss her until they shared one breath, to shower her in gold and gems that dimmed in comparison to her radiant loveliness. But she didn’t.

It seemed they would be waiting sometime, as Thorin’s back grew misshapen and Bilbo truly invisible, silent as well as unseen.

“We should rest,” Thorin said eventually, the ache in her body threatening to become permanent.

“No!” Bilbo blurted out. In the silence that followed Thorin could easily imagine she might be blushing, or perhaps looking away in reticence.

“If you’re not certain,” Thorin said slowly, “I can wait.”

Bilbo snorted.

Thorin leveled a glare at her, or where she thought the hobbit was. “I am not in the habit of forcing unwanted advances on others,” she said sharply.

“I know,” Bilbo said, words slightly muffled. She must have had something -- hands? -- covering her mouth. “I think I know you well enough to be -- assured of that.”

“There is time enough later,” Thorin said, when the silence stretched thin.

“I know,” Bilbo said again, softly. “I merely --” She exhaled, muttering something that Thorin could not hear.

Thorin frowned. “We do not need to do anything. We may as well sleep; who knows when the --”

“Oh, hush!” Bilbo said, and Thorin stopped, eyebrows climbing at the command.

“Just let me --”

No other words came, and Thorin leaned forward, ignoring the creak of her elbow. She wanted to know what Bilbo needed, and even more than that, to be the one that gave her what she needed. “Yes?”

Hands closed around one of her wrists. Tightly at first, then gentling.

“Keep still,” Bilbo said, a breathless and bewitching note in her voice.

Thorin wavered at the command, but when Bilbo pushed at her shoulders, complied with her instructions and laid down. The hobbit clearly intended something and anyways, Thorin couldn’t move with the bonds on her. She rested her hands across her belly, elbows bent, and yielded.

It took a moment for the hobbit to gather her courage, but eventually Thorin heard her shift, mattress rustling underneath, and the gentle touch of her hands on her jaw again, petting her beard. Thorin could not keep a small smile from appearing. The hobbit seemed fascinated by her hairiness, and from what little she had seen of Bilbo’s body she was definitely much smoother, softer. Her eyes drifted shut as Bilbo’s hands traced down her neck to sweep across her collarbone; there is no use for that particular sense anyways, and it seems to heighten the touch she had infrequently had the chance to receive.

Thorin had only the slight warning of Bilbo’s curls fluttering across her cheekbones before her lips were captured by the hobbit’s, a kiss that quickly moved from gentle pressure to a searching warmth. Lips parted in earnest, and Thorin had her tongue out and slipping into the hobbit’s mouth before she recalled how Bilbo had requested she keep still. It seemed not to bother the hobbit, and when Thorin withdrew her tongue Bilbo’s followed her, darting across the roof of her mouth and tracing the curve of her teeth.

When Bilbo pulled back, Thorin made a small sound at the loss and she opened her eyes, the noise much too loud in the cell. The empty space above her was disconcerting, breaking the sweet glow of their kisses and she quickly shut her eyes again.

The barest touch of Bilbo’s lips and hands across her shoulders had awakened a warmth low between her legs, and she twisted her knees together, not conscious of the movement until Bilbo’s hands were on her thighs, urging her to stillness. When the pressure of Bilbo’s body spread across them, and she tensed the muscles again, this time in support of Bilbo’s weight.

“See?” Bilbo said breathlessly, a hum of satisfaction in her tone. “No need to go so quickly.”

Thorin blinked. Was the hobbit giving her lessons? As if she were some unseasoned dwarrow --

“I said no moving!” Bilbo tutted, and Thorin stalled her motion forward and forced herself to relax back onto the mattress.

“Honestly,” Bilbo muttered, and Thorin would complain except Bilbo was carding her hands through Thorin’s hair again, tracing the shells of her ears and examining the piercings in her ears.

A further investigation followed, with more kissing, feather-light along the span of her forehead, nipping at the end of her nose, and firmly down the length of her neck, and then Bilbo sat back on her thighs again.

“Do you want --” Bilbo stopped.

“Anything,” Thorin said, almost too quickly, but she could not bring herself to feel shame about it.

“Of course, I -- of course, who wouldn’t,” Bilbo muttered, and Thorin waited as patiently as she could for the hobbit to decide what she wanted. It sounded like the hobbit was debating the propriety of the situation versus her own wants, as only Bilbo would, and Thorin, roused as she was with heat and stirring desire, had to smile.

Thorin was pleasantly surprised when Bilbo made her decision, and hands worked at her thick belt, until it unclasped and loosened, sliding down her sides. Bilbo’s breath was nearly as fast as hers now, and Thorin wanted for nothing more at the moment than to see Bilbo’s face. She might have a look of concentration, a flush darkening her face, or perhaps she was biting at her lips, already swollen from kisses.

Thorin bit at her own bottom lip to keep from asking -- _demanding_ the hobbit to show herself, and dropped her head back until it was buried into the mattress.

Bilbo lifted Thorin’s tunic and shirt, and Thorin raised her bound hands so the fabric would slide up.

Fingertips fluttered across her skin, and Thorin’s lips twitched, wanting to say _harder_ , _no need to be so gentle and sweet_ , but she had acquiesced to Bilbo’s demand, and would see it through. That, and she thought perhaps Bilbo had not done this before, and if that was so, Thorin would let her do all that she was willing, and ask for no more.

It was almost as if Bilbo could read her mind -- and if that was a trait of the ring, _that had better not be a trait of the ring_ \-- because Bilbo scraped her fingernails upward Thorin’s stomach, although not quite as hard as Thorin would have liked, and that was distraction enough for Thorin’s thoughts to scatter. A small gasp escaped before she could stop it, and she lifted her arms so that Bilbo could continue.

Bilbo’s small hands splayed under her ribcage, barely meeting the seams of her sides. Dampness bloomed under her collarbone, a wet, sucking kiss that trailed down her chest to the lowest point of the collar of her shirt.

Thorin had intensely hated the bonds the Elvenking kept her in, but now she detested how they prevented her from removing her shirt and tunic. She groaned as Bilbo’s hands ghosted over her breast bindings, and Thorin raised her bound hands to grip a lump of mattress above her head.

“Hush,” Bilbo murmured, and there was something slightly wicked in her tone as she pressed a -- leg? Hand? -- against the swell of her sex.

Thorin muffled an oath as pressure rolled between her legs. The chance of capture was little, she knew, she had told Bilbo repeatedly, but she kept her silence as best she could. Fingers traced down her waist, stroking the hard muscle of her stomach, stopping again at the band of her trousers.

This, at least, could come off, and Thorin lifted her hips slightly to signal her willingness. After a long moment, she lowered her them. Above her, the hobbit was still, and Thorin frowned.

“Are you -- well?” She cursed the circumstances that kept Bilbo invisible, and unwillingly her eyes flitted to the door, locked and silent. “Is there something I can do?”

“Yes -- no. Yes. I mean to say that I’m fine and you’re -- lovely.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in, for Thorin had been called many things in her life, but _lovely_ was rarely one of them. Her skin prickled under the awareness of Bilbo’s stare, as if her sight was another hand tracing across her skin, but Thorin was not prone to blushing. Instead she let her lips fall into a small smirk and tilted her head back, baring her throat, giving the hobbit what she wanted -- a view.

“Show off,” Bilbo muttered fondly, and teeth found the length of Thorin’s neck as the strings were pulled loose on her trousers. Nimble fingers tugged on the fabric, but stopped, and instead followed the soft fold of flesh that dipped down her hips to the vee of her legs.

Thorin struggled to keep sounds from escaping, and had to bite her lips when Bilbo’s tongue lapped the thin skin there, and a slight flare of pain jolted a gasp from her as Bilbo sucked a bruising kiss in the hollow between her hip and thigh.

Thorin stared into the darkness, astonished that her burglar was so daring, and how much she enjoyed it. “When -- ah! When my hands are free, I will show you exactly what I can do,” Thorin promised, her voice already low and gravelly.

Bilbo hummed against her skin, and then Thorin’s trousers were pulled lower, the air of the cell a cool shock against her heated body.

There was a long enough pause that Thorin had a brief moment to wonder what Bilbo might think of her body. Thorin felt no shyness, and she knew enough about the anatomy of other species that she could almost assume that Bilbo’s would hold no surprises, but there could always something different, perhaps unappealing about hers. Luckily, before that thought could take hold, Bilbo’s mouth was against the folds of her sex, and Thorin shuddered and arched as they parted, and Bilbo found the sensitive nub of her arousal.

So direct and _assertive_. Thorin had a hard time reconciling this Bilbo with the gentle, sweet one in her daydreams. She’d always imagined she’d be the one to take the lead, but she’d misjudged her hobbit yet again. And she quite liked it.

Thorin’s trousers were pulled down only to her lower thighs, so she had little room to move, but she spread her legs as far as allowed. Bilbo thumbed her lips apart, spreading her wide, and licked in, and again, and again, until it felt like she’d memorized the entirety of Thorin’s sex, until there was only one place left to go.

Thorin’s legs were shaking, wanting to spread farther apart. Her hands had dropped from the mattress to clutch at Bilbo’s hair and she knew she was breaking Bilbo’s rule, but Bilbo hadn’t stopped to scold her. Her tongue was moving at a leisurely pace while her fingers, stroking across her nub, picked up speed, pressing on the sides of it and flicking a fingernail across it.

Thorin’s could not help the sound that escaped as Bilbo’s tongue entered her, and the hobbit made a noise in reply, perhaps discouraging her from being so loud, but Thorin was too senseless to comprehend it.

Her eyes had long since shut, the entirety of her focus on the feeling of Bilbo’s thumb rubbing against her, each stroke elevating her arousal higher, and the grip of fine hair under her hands, and the curl of Bilbo’s tongue into her body.

She was close, so close, spurred on by the wet slick sounds of laps and slurps below her, and finally Bilbo reached upward with her free hand and raked her nails down her stomach, and Thorin came, sex pulsing wetly into Bilbo’s mouth. She gritted her teeth, but a choked exhale escaped her anyways.

Her hips lowered as the pulsing slowed, and she came back to herself. Thorin loosened her grip from Bilbo’s hair, a murmuring an apology.

Bilbo sat up, released, and rested a hand on her thigh. Her fingers were soothing as they stroked her skin.

“ _That_ was proper?” Thorin managed after a minute, and Bilbo snorted.

“Do I hear complaints?” Bilbo said, sharp but teasing, and Thorin shook her head.

“None, except…I must return the favor.” Thorin reached until she found the curve of Bilbo’s waist, and then trailed her hands down to the hobbit’s skirt.

“Are you sure you can…?”

Thorin grunted an affirmative, and fought Bilbo’s long skirt. “If you lift this,” she said.

Bilbo complied quickly, and the fabric rushed past her fingers until there was nothing but space. Thorin tried to be gentle as she searched for Bilbo’s sex. She found the band of her knickers and pushed underneath them until her fingers were tangled in a bed of curls. As she traveled lower, the swollen lips were flatteringly wet as Thorin parted them.

It was hardly ideal that Thorin’s hands were tied, but she did have the advantage of two sets of fingers, and she could slide the nub of Bilbo’s sex between her thumbs, plucking and pulling until Bilbo was squirming, hands falling to Thorin’s shoulders.

Thorin felt Bilbo was near, when she began to push herself down onto Thorin faster than the rhythm set by Thorin’s hands and Bilbo’s panting moans seemed a confirmation as well. Thorin kept a steady, quick pace, until her wrists began to cramp, and Bilbo’s hands were leaving bruises and scrapes on her sides, and the hobbit came quite suddenly, riding down on Thorin’s hands until her fingers were quite enwrapped in the folds of Bilbo’s sex.

Her hands gripped Thorin’s wrists to stop her, and for a moment they rested against each other, until the painful ache that ran up Thorin’s arms made her slowly pull away.

Bilbo sighed and rested more fully onto Thorin’s thighs.

Thorin spent a few moments letting the hobbit catch her breath and feeling the high from her own pleasure fade away, leaving a relaxing satisfaction in its wake.

“Miss Baggins,” she murmured fondly, for the swell of emotion had not diminished, and had she been more capable of flowery speeches she would have been prepared to sing her burglar’s praises long into the night.

She felt a pinch along her side.

“I believe we’re beyond surnames, after that,” Bilbo said, amused, still catching her breath.

“Kiss me,” Thorin rumbled lowly instead of answering, and reached out her hands, brushing them along the copious ruffles that Bilbo’s skirt still -- quite amazingly -- possessed. If she splayed her fingers, she could cup the curve of Bilbo’s lovely thigh.

“Speak my name,” Bilbo said impatiently, and Thorin smiled at the tartness in her voice.

“You hardly dare say it,” the hobbit muttered, and the pressure on Thorin’s body shifted forward, until she could feel the hobbit’s breath tickling across her throat.

“I hardly know what to think of you, dear burglar,” Thorin said truthfully. “You are a wonder, indeed…” she trailed off as she felt lips trace the cords of her throat, and when she swallowed, Bilbo nipped at the bob of her throat.

“One that I am…” She stopped, turning her head so Bilbo could cover all her skin with kisses, her cheeks, her temple and the tip of her nose.

“What? What are you?” Bilbo said, breath washing warm across her mouth as it paused there.

“Bewitched,” Thorin said, and instead of the kiss she was expecting she received a healthy dose of laughter.

“The only thing magic about me is my ring,” Bilbo said, amusement in her voice. “The rest is quite boring and proper. Well.” She cleared her throat. “Mostly proper.”

There was a pressure against her left breast, and Thorin moved to cover it, and met Bilbo’s warm hand. She wrapped her fingers over Bilbo’s.

“I would not have you any other way, Bilbo,” Thorin said. She felt a small pang of shame, very briefly, for it was easier to speak such things when she did not have to watch Bilbo’s wide, warm eyes or beguiling face that reflected her every emotion.

But the warm weight on top of her anchored her down, and the long days in the Elvenking’s prison had made her very aware of how lax she had been with the hobbit, and how much of their time together has been without the hobbit knowing her true depth of her feelings.

“I --” she began, and there was a warm press against her lips, but not from the hobbit’s sweet mouth. Thorin recognized the scrolling texture of fingertips pressed against her lips.

“Don’t say anything yet,” Bilbo said, and then more dryly, “I don’t want it ruined.”

Thorin opened her mouth to protest, and Bilbo chose then to push her mouth against hers. Thorin graciously decided to wait, choosing instead to focus on the sensation, the salt of her own sex and the heaviness of her scent. She licked her lips as Bilbo moved away.

“You don’t think…” Bilbo trailed off as she sat up, brushing her hands across the collar of her tunic.

Thorin waited.

Something heavy dropped on her chest. “That was too fast?” The words were muttered into fabric.

Thorin snorted. “If I were male, would you ask the same thing?”

A moment of silence as Bilbo thought. “If we were both hobbits, yes.” A beat. “Or if we were both male…”

Thorin frowned, understanding dawning slowly. “Is that what the problem is?” She untangled her arms from under Bilbo and drew them carefully around her back, holding firmly. “For dwarves, the matter of willingness is of utmost importance, not the subject of gender.” Sensing that there might be more argument, she continued. “In Erebor it would hardly be an concern.”

Bilbo sighed, and slid her arms around her waist, but didn’t respond. Thorin didn’t push the issue, for fear of what the hobbit might say. Probably she would go back to the Shire as soon as their quest was complete. It had been on her mind constantly and she had not been afraid to voice her longing for her books and her garden. Whether or not this night had changed her feelings, Thorin would have to wait and see.

Besides… “Sleep now,” Thorin said, and lifted her arms while canting her hips to the side, tossing the hobbit to the mattress next to her.

“Omph!” Bilbo grunted, and Thorin could practically hear her grimace.

“We’ll have to work on your bedside manner,” Bilbo said crossly, and Thorin smiled as she pulled her trousers up, first along one side and then the other, and settled herself back onto the mattress. A few rustles next to her told her Bilbo was also rearranging herself, and before long the hobbit was curled up against her side. For the first time in a long while, Thorin felt better than she ever had.

**Author's Note:**

> _“…which was the lying sense, feeling or seeing?”_


End file.
